


Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

by devil_may_care_00



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devil_may_care_00/pseuds/devil_may_care_00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Winchester is faced with a situation like no other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

**Author's Note:**

> The poem used at the end of this story was first posted by Tumblr user 'ask-demonmeg' who has since been deactivated. It is a parody of the traditional nursery rhyme "Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary".

            He was right in front of her, all taught muscles, emerald eyes, and chiseled jaw line.

           

“When I would get sick, you would make me tomato rice soup,” Dean said quietly.  “Because that’s what your mom made you.”

           

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time.  He was handsome, brave, and strong.  He carried himself with dignity.  He bore the scars of years on the road, injuries that were sustained hunting, and battling monsters much closer to home.

           

“And instead of a lullaby, you would sing ‘Hey Jude” cause that’s your favorite Beatles song.”

           

His eyes.   They were the same ones that she saw every day, when she woke up in the morning, across the kitchen table eating breakfast, and at night before bed.  How didn’t she notice those eyes, the ones that were so much like her husband’s, on a face that was so similar to her own, but so different.  She could feel tears start to roll down her cheeks.  She shook her head. 

           

“I don’t believe it. No…” she trails off. 

           

He was her baby.  Her baby, the one growing inside of her body right now, was standing in front of her, all grown up.  He was one of the most courageous men she’d ever met.  He was a soldier, a hunter.  He’d been raised a hunter, he’d told her from day one… 

 

“I raised my kids to be hunters?” she asked.

 

…And like all hunters, he was sad, so terribly sad. 

            She never wanted to raise her kids into this life, the one she’d struggled long and hard to get away from.

           

“No.  No you didn’t,” he replied, taking a shuddering breath. 

           

“How could I do that to you?” she continued, overwhelmed by guilt, and anger, red hot, fiery anger, at herself, and at these circumstances. 

           

They were supposed to be normal God damnitt!  They were supposed to lead a normal life in the suburbs of Lawrence, and they were going to name the kids after her parents, and dear God, what could’ve happened to her?  What could’ve changed her mind, made her son this way? 

 

Her oldest son was standing in front of her, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and a broken smile, and in the other room, was sweet, kind Sam, teaching his father how to hunt the monsters that he had been trained to kill.  How could she do this to her kids?  What the hell happened to her, to John?

 

            “You didn’t do it.  Because you’re dead.” 

_Mary Mary, quite contrary,_

_How did your little boys grow?_

_With guns and knives,_

_And yellow demon eyes,_

_Going from Heaven, to Hell below._  


End file.
